


The Milk Of Human Kindness Drippeth Slowly

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Winter Holidays Series [14]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Blues, Christmas Carol Retold, Depression, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Holiday Blues, Holidays, Hurt McCoy, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Loneliness, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Spock, Protective Spock/Hurt McCoy, Redemption, Tolerance, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: McCoy is feeling lonely and sorry for himself at The Holidays.  He'd like a little understanding and companionship from someone who cares.  The last thing he needs is a visit from a nitpicking, condescending Vulcan.  But guess what he gets?





	1. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock shows emotion to help McCoy express his own.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me….”

The sentimental Christmas song from the Twentieth Century flowed around Leonard McCoy as he stared unseeing at a far corner in the otherwise deserted day room of the Enterprise. It was late, but he didn't care. It was Christmas Eve, and parties were going on all over the Enterprise. Everyone was celebrating the holiday. Nobody was paying attention to the time tonight. Then why in the hell should he?

He twisted a drink of bourbon in his hand, but he knew that there would no answers for him in hard liquor this night. Hell, he could drink a whole damn distillery dry, and it wouldn’t do him any good. Not now. Not for him. Not at Christmas time. 

Helluva time. Christmas. A special punishment from whatever gods that were out there. Because they sure as hell weren't out there for Leonard McCoy. Because, if they were out there for Leonard McCoy, he'd be feeling them. And he felt nothing, nothing. Just loneliness.

McCoy sat hunched down in a chair with his elbows on the table in front of him. This mood had been over him for several days now. He recognized it as he would anything that had caused him pain in the past. It was an old nemesis of his. Hell, any lonely person would recognize it for what it was: the narcissistic pity of being alone when it seemed like the rest of the universe has gotten together without you and is having one hell of a celebration in spite of your absence. Maybe even because of his absence. Why couldn’t all of those people realize that McCoy just wanted to be included so that he could feel normal again. Was that so much to ask of those elusive gods and his fellow crewmembers?! Just to feel normal again?! Just so he could stand to be in the same room with himself again and not feel guilty about taking up the space.

Hell, as long as he was at it, he might as well admit the whole truth of the reason behind his self-hatred.

He yearned to feel wanted again by somebody! Anybody! He yearned again to be special.

Please, please, just send someone to make me feel lovable again, he begged. Don't let me have to accept this pessimistic shit that I keep thinking about myself!

A whisper of cloth drew his attention. Were his prayers about to be answered?! There were gods out there, after all?! Had somebody really sought him out?!

McCoy glanced up to see Spock looking down at him.

Oh, hell, McCoy thought to himself with a grimace. Just what I need now. Spock, the poor man's form of self flagellation. Ask for some warmth and human understanding. Instead, what do I get? A bucket of ice water in the form of a judgmental, condescending Vulcan. Those elusive gods out there must be having a bellylaugh about the irony of my situation.

“Well, what are you looking at?” McCoy muttered and didn't try to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Why should he? Spock surely knew by this time what McCoy thought of him and the prospect of his company. Hadn't McCoy made it obvious often enough? Keep your distance, Vulcan! We're teammates, but that's it!

“Are you not well, Doctor?” Spock asked in a voice that had just the right amount of concern in it.

How in the hell did the Vulcan do that?! How could he sound like he was concerned about someone when he really wasn't?

McCoy took no pains to hide the contempt in his voice as he answered, “No, if you must know, I’m just peachy keen.”

“You will have to excuse my ignorance, Doctor. I do not understand this ‘peachy keen' of which you speak.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” McCoy snipped. He was so tired of this conversation already, and it had just started. But the Vulcan looked at if he was in no way ready to leave any time soon, so McCoy knew that he was in for some boring conversation until Spock's curiosity was satisfied. “If you had understood what I'd meant, that would mean that you had some empathy for my dilemma, some milk of human kindness that you were willing to share, some understanding of the human condition." He glared up at Spock, almost in accusation. "And you don’t want any part of that, do you? You don't want to gain any understanding of the human condition, do you?”

“I have never said that I did not wish to understand the human condition, Doctor. You apparently heard me wrong. What I wanted to imply was something quite different. I said that I did not wish to experience the human condition.”

McCoy smirked to himself. Damn hairsplitter! “Oh. Of course. Excuse me. My mistake. How could I ever had gotten that so wrong?" He felt a snarl coming on and made no attempt to stop it from reflecting in his voice. He could only imagine how dangerously angry his eyes must be snapping at that damn hybrid studying him so closely. "Then why are you so damn interested in the human condition if you do not wish to experience it?!”

“I am curious about its cause and effect, Doctor. Just as I am curious about other phenomenon that occur in nature such as the semi-annual migrations of animals and the menses cycles in females. I am particularly interested in deviations from the established norm of these established habits. Erratic behavioral patterns of the higher creatures are curious to me because those creatures realize that they have options and are not necessarily driven by instinct. Higher creatures can reason, they are aware that they exist, and they realize their own mortality. Because of the wide range of options therefore available, it becomes interesting to see how man especially will choose and what factors will be used in that determination. The habits and actions of human beings are quite fascinating to those of a scientific inclination.”

That coldblooded statement angered McCoy on a cellular level. It struck him to the core of his human heart. That philosophy was against anything that a person capable of feeling empathy could tolerate. He had to straighten out the Vulcan's thinking, and fast. Nobody would argue with his just cause. Any clear-eyed human should be able to understand McCoy's sacred quest. It was the only thing that made sense to McCoy.

But he also was capable of restraining his anger. He felt that he should instruct Spock, instead of destroying him. It was up to McCoy to educate the Vulcan. Yes, that was the word. Educate. And that was what McCoy needed to do, in a humanitarian way. So he softened his words so they would be less scathing.

“People weren’t placed in your life to be studied under a microscope, Spock. We were put in your life and you were put in ours to try to learn how to help each other grow and how to reach new understanding of ourselves and each other.”

“That is a moralistic viewpoint, Doctor.”

“It is a humane viewpoint! A human response, if you will.”

“And thereby is the difference in us, Doctor,” Spock said with such a great deal of satisfaction that it made McCoy think that the Vulcan was almost displaying the sin of pride. “Behavioral or humanitarian. As Hamlet said, to be or not to be. I choose the behavioral or pure science way of viewing our current discussion.”

“And yet you like to think of yourself as a humanitarian,” McCoy said with a great deal of his own satisfaction. “What do you have to say about that? You cannot claim both philosophies now.”

It seemed that Spock was caught off-guard. His eyes widened with surprise.

McCoy’s own eyes flashed, and victory made him feel triumphant. “Now, I’ve caught you up, you green-blooded contradiction! Actually, you did it to yourself! How does it feel to shoot yourself in the foot, Vulcan?! You baited the trap carefully, and caught yourself!”

“You seem to be correct, Doctor. You have bested me at logic.”

“Of course, I’m correct!” McCoy gloated. “You can’t take take that victory away from me!”

“But I believe that you will find that we truly are talking different concepts.”

“Of course, we are! And you have them both, just the same as we non-hybrid Earthlings!”

That statement brought a look to Spock’s face that could almost be construed as a smile. The twinkle in his dark eyes could be interpreted as humor. It was almost enough to sober McCoy. Whatever had he done to produce that sort of reaction in Spock?

“What?! What's on your wicked mind now?! You look like the crocodile that ate Captain Hook’s leg!”

“You referred to yourself as a non-hybrid Earthling.”

“Well, yeah!”

“You went to a lot of trouble not to call me a half-breed.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to insult you with something that was meant to be a low blow!”

“I do appreciate your endeavors, Doctor.”

“Criticize someone for his ideas, or his political viewpoints, or his choice of hair cut! But don’t slur someone about his circumstance of birth!”

“You do seem to be quite adamant about your stand.”

“Damn straight!” McCoy snapped.

“We do seem to have a lot in common.”

“Come on, Spock. We’re not that different. Not really. We’re both mortal. We’ll go through a life cycle. We’re destined to love our share of people and to hurt our share. And we’ll do both to the people we care about the most. Because the damnable irony of the truth is that we can't hurt someone we hate.” He frowned. "Only those we love. And who love us in return."

“You are certainly poetic this evening, Doctor.”

McCoy broke his trance and looked aside. “It’s the bourbon. It's nearly a hundred proof. The damn stuff would make a poet out of a muskrat. Scotty is some kind of saint to have found this stuff for me. I could walk through a meteor shower and not notice it. I'd just be amazed at all of the twinkling lights all around me.”

“Muskrats partake of alcoholic beverages?”

“If they don’t, they should,” McCoy answered with a wry smile. Talking about bourbon, or anything about his native Southern culture, always made McCoy mellow. And probably the potency of the bourbon on him had been greater than he'd realized.

“It has been my experience that only the higher animals partake of intoxicants in order to enliven what they consider to be their humdrum lives.”

“That they do, my man.” McCoy smiled down at the magic elixir in his glass. Now he was feeling not only mellow, but wise. Maybe Spock wasn't a bad sort, after all.

And then the Vulcan ruined everything just that fast with his brutal truth and bare-bone honesty. "But the intoxicants fall short of their promised solutions. It is only a short-lived illusion."

"Then leave us to our illusions," McCoy growled. "Don't take those away, too."

“What is troubling you this evening, Doctor?”

“Go away, Vulcan.”

“You will talk about man in general, but not about yourself in particular?”

That improved McCoy's disposition. “Now you are reaching a new level of understanding,” McCoy answered wryly. "Your perceptiveness is improving."

"And you are being sarcastic."

"And now you are improving by leaps and bounds with your comprehension! Why, any moment now, you'll get it figured out all by yourself that I don't want your company at all! And then you'll leave! Why, it'll almost be like you can read my mind!"

Spock blinked, but he did not snap back with a smart answer. 

Nor did he leave.

McCoy glared. "That was meant to hurt your feelings so badly that you would turn on your heel and leave. Why didn't you?" he snapped.

“You still have not explained about what is troubling you.”

“And I’m not about to! Haven’t you ever been told to mind your own business?!”

But Spock was not to be deterred. “Something has obviously upset you.”

“You mean, besides your pestering the hell outa me right now?!”

"I know that you are not angry at me, but at yourself."

"Now, how in the blue glazing hell can you possibly assume something like that when you want nothing to do with feelings?! Especially mine?!"

Spock flinched, but he barely let McCoy see it. Nor did he shut up. Instead, he plowed ahead. “Would you like to tell me what is wrong?”

“No, I would not like to tell you what is wrong,” McCoy mocked in a voice that even tree bark would recognize as snide. 

This time, McCoy did see Spock flinch. It was that obvious. And it made McCoy feel not very proud of himself. 

“Sorry,” McCoy apologized. “Don’t mind me. I’m in a bitchy mood.” Then doctor-mode kicked in as he really looked at Spock the patient, instead of Spock the vague aggravation at the edge of his awareness. “Why the hell are you here, anyway? It’s late. You should be in bed. You need your rest. ”

“I wanted to see if you needed some assistance. You were quiet at dinner.”

“I’m in a mood, if you must know. I’ll get over it in time. Just leave me alone.”

“You should not be alone now, Doctor.”

“What the hell’s so different about now?”

“I could see pain in your eyes at dinner. I knew that it would not go away any time soon.”

“Oh, hell,” McCoy muttered. He hadn't intended to let his melancholy be seen. And then to have it noticed by Spock, of all people. How was that even possible? How come Spock noticed it to the extent that he felt obligated to seek out McCoy in order to see if he could be of assistance?

What was going on around this damn Starship, anyway?! First, the Vulcan was learning empathy. And now he could read people? What next? Spock would be offering advice to the lovelorn because he was so sensitive to human pain and understood love so much?

“You were obviously hurting inside, Doctor. You still are.”

“It must be obvious if you could see it. Everyone must have seen it then. It must have been as bright as a beacon.”

“Not really. Captain Kirk did not notice, and he was dining with us.”

“Jim was checking out the new yeoman who's in communication. She was only a few feet away at dinner and trying to ignore him. Yet, all the while, she was blushing and showing herself to advantage as she reeled him in. And he was happily letting himself get landed in her net. A melancholy friend will never outdo big breasts and luscious lips for Jim's attention. I could’ve had pitchfork tines sticking through my chest and bleeding all over the table, and he would’ve missed it.”

“Pitchfork tines in your bleeding chest might have gotten his attention.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. He would've wondered where I'd found a pitchfork on the Enterprise. But this isn’t getting us anywhere. Just go away now. You’ve done your good deed and sated your curiosity somewhat. I don’t need your company.”

Spock drew his eyebrows together. McCoy might as well have slapped him.

“Sorry, Spock. Like I said, I’m in a bitchy mood. I appreciate the gesture of what you're trying to do, but I don’t want your company. Okay?” McCoy tried to end as gently as he could force himself.

“Would you keep me company then?”

“What?” McCoy asked with a frown. What new tactic was this?

“I would like to have some company.”

But McCoy was skeptical. “You? Wanting company? What’s that like?”

“Is it so difficult to imagine, Doctor?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes. I thought that you didn’t really want to be around us humans, except to study us.”

Spock flinched again. “I am sorry that I gave you that impression.”

“It isn’t an impression, Spock. You’ve all but said it right out loud. You stand back and judge us with that haughty attitude of yours. I know what that raised eyebrow on your smug face means. Your body language says that you find us amusing and that you can barely tolerate us.”

“And your body language and underlying verbal signals tell me that you do not know me and do not wish to understand me," Spock snapped back with a rapidity that would stun anyone.

That volley landed squarely broadside. McCoy was amazed that Spock’s words, tinged with an indication of Spock's own pain, actually hurt McCoy. McCoy got defensive because he felt that he was responsible for this whole caustic exchange. “Now, how in the world can I possibly know you when you act like such a damn prig all the time?”

Spock frowned. “Maybe I should not have hunted you up.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere! Now we are beginning to understand each other!”

Spock’s dark eyes blinked. “I can see now that this was all a mistake on my part. I will leave you alone now, Doctor. I am sorry that I disturbed you. It will not happen again. Of that, I can assure you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” McCoy frowned in amazement. “I’ve hurt you? You?!”

Spock turned back to McCoy. “Why is that such a revolutionary idea, Doctor? Of course, I have feelings. And they can be hurt. I have had a lifetime of hurt feelings, so I can understand that concept very well. You are not introducing me to some concept that I have never encountered before.”

“Then why don’t you let your feelings show? People might be a little more understanding and considerate if you let them know that you can be hurt.”

“I do not like to give into emotionalism, Doctor.”

“I know that you don't. I've been around you long enough to understand that much about you. And I know that you do not like to admit to having emotions. But that shouldn’t necessarily mean that you’re an insensitive clod, either, does it? I guess I forgot that you could also have feelings. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I can understand why you would have that misconception, Doctor.”

“Well, and I, ah, appreciate that you hunted me up to help me,” McCoy said carefully. “That was, ah, very nice and very, ah, thoughtful of you to do.”

“You are most welcome, Doctor,” Spock said as carefully as McCoy had spoken.

Neither of them wanted to mess up this new and sudden understanding that was growing between them. If they'd had the courage to admit it, they'd say that they were both amazed by this new understanding. It was almost as if they had something in common. Sure, they were already comrades, but this felt like more. Something greater. Something that they both liked. Maybe even the start of friendship.

“And I would consider it an honor if you ever chose to share with me the cause for your melancholy.”

How sweet, McCoy thought. He still wants to help. But he's being so damn careful about it now so he won't upset me. How considerate!

McCoy’s grin was sad because Spock had reminded him of his melancholy. “Jim generally has these buddies duties, but he was busy.”

“You were correct in your observation that the new yeoman in communications seemed to have taken all of his attention this evening.”

“Yeah.” McCoy breathed deeply. “It’s the holiday season. Jim was looking for someone to snuggle with. It's one way to handle Christmas melancholy.”

Swift calculations seemed to pass through Spock’s brain. “And the holiday season is the cause for your melancholy?”

McCoy sighed. “That is correct.” He grimaced. “It’s a wake up call to some people that time’s passing. It can be as bad as class reunions. And about as trying. I'll be happy when I can put the holidays behind me. So you really don't have to extend yourself on my account.”


	2. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock pulls a Charles Dickens on McCoy.

But Spock was persistent. "I would be very pleased if you would provide company for me this evening, Doctor."

Oh, hell, the Vulcan wasn't going to go away just because McCoy had more than hinted broadly. “Just how do you want me to entertain you?” McCoy inquired and knew that his skepticism echoed in his voice.

“Would it not be better if we entertained each other?” Spock returned with a voice that echoed all of the naivete in his seemingly innocent heart.

And that innocence intrigued McCoy. What was Spock up to? The only way to learn was to go along with him.

“What do you suggest that we do to keep each other company, Mr. Spock?”

Spock's dark eyes sparkled. “Why, I would appreciate it if you were to accompany me and visit other people on the Enterprise tonight.”

His enthusiasm was almost touching to witness. How could McCoy crush that kind of eagerness? If he did, he would indeed be a Scrooge.

Oh, holy crap! That was going to put a helluva pressure on McCoy, though. He really didn't want to accompany Spock on a merry jaunt through the Enterprise. What could be unique and new on this old tub that McCoy hadn't already seen a hundred times over? 

Regrettably, McCoy could think of no handy excuse NOT to accompany the Vulcan. There was no urgent letter to be written, no socks that needed washing, no face that needed shaving. When all that he wanted to do was to be sucking on the sour rag of self-pity, he could think of no way to do that and still save face. And he really didn't wish to insult Spock with a brutal refusal. After all, it couldn't be that easy being Spock. Why should McCoy add to the misery of the poor, pathetic alien?

No, McCoy decided to bite the bullet and go along with Spock's agenda. He would see this through, on Spock’s terms, through Spock’s eyes. Hell, he could be as jovial and as adjustable as the next guy! Wasn't he here to prove that very fact?!

McCoy held out his hand. “After you, Commander,” he invited with determination.

Spock nodded solemnly. “Doctor.” His voice was soft, but full of enthusiasm.

But Spock had a mellow look of satisfaction about himself that made McCoy feel almost good about himself. It was almost as if he was doing something truly humanitarian about his fellow man.

 

The first place they stopped was sickbay. A nurse who had pulled the graveyard shift smiled at them in recognition, but quickly went back to her work.

McCoy noted the obvious out-loud. “I’ve been here before. Recently.”

“But not as a guest,” Spock said brightly.

“Okay, who am I visiting?" McCoy asked graciously. "As a guest?”

“Slater.”

McCoy frowned. “The burn victim?”

“That is correct. He needs to be included in the holiday merriment."

"Impossible! He’s to have no visitors. He needs rest. It was quite traumatic for him to be trapped in that fire. He needs to heal, inside as well as outside. And I want no danger of foreign contaminants infecting him. He's in a very fragile condition.”

“Slater is nineteen years old, Doctor. The Enterprise is his first assignment. He is only now becoming acquainted with his fellow crew mates.” Spock looked at McCoy pointedly. “He is a young man in his first throes of manhood. He desires company, especially at Christmas. And you put him in isolation.”

“It was for his own good!”

“There is more than the body that needs to be treated. Slater’s spirits need to be lifted. He needs young people around him to remind him of his youth.”

“Well, okay," McCoy relented. "But just a few people at a time and for only a little while.”

Spock happily turned to the nurse on duty. “Please see that Slater’s closest friends are allowed to visit him, Peters.”

The young woman smiled. “Yes, Commander.” She glanced at McCoy. “Thank you, Doctor. That is very nice of you. A short visit will pep up Slater very much. It will be just what the doctor ordered.” She looked as pleased at McCoy as Spock did.

"Well, we gotta have the milk of human kindness, don't we?" McCoy growled. "After all, it's Christmas."

"Yes, Doctor. It is still very kind of you, though," Peters said as she smiled at him sweetly.

"Well, yeah," McCoy sputtered. Did she have to look at him as if he just done something extraordinary?! Like hanging the moon and the stars in the sky?! And why did her admiration make him feel a little spark of warmth in his heart? "Oh, I suppose I'm just an old softie, aren't I? A hopeless romantic at heart."

She covered McCoy's hand with her own. "Whatever you are, Doctor, it is still very kind of you. And it will mean so much to Slater."

More warmth flowed through McCoy. He jerked his hand away. “Where to next, Spock?” he snarled to cover his surprise at the warmth that he was feeling.

“Follow me, Doctor.”

Even the damn Vulcan was giving him a sweet look as if he had just done something not only wonderful, but miraculous.

What the hell?! Didn't anybody believe that he could do anything decent?! What kind of ogre did they think that he was, anyway?!

 

“The brig?" McCoy asked, looking around in amusement. "Who has to spend the night here?”

“The young man who is already here.”

“Jones?! He attacked Smithers when he wasn’t looking! It was a good thing that Jones was pulled off him!”

“Do you know why he attacked Smithers?”

“Well, no. A woman, most likely.”

“You are correct. But it was not just any woman.”

“Oh?”

“She was Jones’s sister.”

“Was?”

“That is correct. The young lady died of a broken heart.”

McCoy smirked. “Now who’s being the hopeless romantic?”

“I am not being a hopeless romantic, Doctor. I am telling you what happened. The young lady died from pining for a young man who rejected her affections. Smithers led her astray and allowed her to believe that they had a future together. He is as surely guilty of her death as if he had shot her with a gun.”

"Hmm," McCoy muttered.

"Jones loved his sister, Doctor. Perhaps she was foolish, but she should not have paid for her misplaced devotion with her life. You mentioned the milk of human kindness earlier. Should that not also extend to Jones?"

"What the hell do you expect me to do about it?!"

"Speak on Jones's behalf."

"What?! What good would that do?!"

"You are the Chief Medical Officer of this Starship, Doctor. A plea for mercy and a favorable psych evaluation from you would help Jones quite a bit."

"So would one from the First Officer!"

"I have already filed one. So has Jim as Commanding Officer. The tough one to get was going to be from you."

"Me?! Since when did I become known as the guy without a heart?!"

"Since you became so belligerent, Doctor. Lately you have been rather unapproachable."

"Maybe I have my reasons!" McCoy grumbled.

"We all have problems, but we should not let them smother our humanity."

"I have done that?!"

"It will probably be coming next."

"Does Jim know what you're doing on your humanitarian crusade this evening?"

"Yes, I volunteered."

"Because I need help so badly," McCoy mocked.

"That is correct, Doctor."

McCoy looked away with a sound of exasperation.

"But you are willing to admit that there is a problem," Spock said quickly to soothe McCoy.

But McCoy was not to be soothed.

"When did I say that?!" he snapped.

"You have not, in so many words," Spock quickly explained. "But you have to admit that you have been troubled. Only someone who wants a change is unhappy with his present circumstances."

"Well, alright," McCoy conceded. "That makes sense. Where else do you wish to go?"

"This way, Doctor," Spock said as he gestured McCoy forward.

 

“Now we’re on the bridge of the Enterprise?” McCoy asked as the crew on duty looked as puzzled at them as McCoy felt.

Why had off-duty officers appeared? Especially on a night when parties were going on? Then the crew went back to their instruments after the brief interlude. Officers did not have to explain themselves.

“What do you notice about this crew, Doctor?”

“They are doing their jobs.”

“Yet every one of them would rather be at some party with their friends.”

"Who wouldn't?" McCoy quipped.

"You."

"I didn't mean that literally."

"I did."

"Yes. I see. Hmm."

"You have been doing a lot of humming this evening, Doctor. Is that because you do not know the words?"

"Don't make me the butt of that old joke!" McCoy snapped.

"No, I meant that literally."

"You would," McCoy muttered.

"You literally do not know the words with which to answer me," Spock stated so that there would be no misunderstanding.

"Hmm," was all that McCoy could manage in answer.

The man in charge decided that he needed to acknowledge the second and third ranking officers of the Enterprise. "Good evening, Commander Spock. Good evening, Dr. McCoy. May I help you in any way?" the man at the conn asked brightly.

"That's alright, Lutz," McCoy answered. "We're just here on a tour this evening."

"I thought that Cooper was to head this shift," Spock stated.

"We traded, Commander. Cooper had a party tonight."

"That is very commendable of you to do that for your friend, Lutz."

Lutz flashed a big grin. "He'd do it for me, Commander. It's like we're related. In a brotherhood, almost. You know?"

"I believe that we are beginning to understand your point, Lutz," Spock answered who was so pleased that his point was being proven so nicely. "Carry on."

"Aye, Commander."

"Some more of the milk of human kindness?" McCoy muttered to Spock as they turned toward the turbo lift. "If so, It's a whole pailful."

Spock simply smiled his pleased smile at McCoy.

 

They found themselves in a lower hallway near the day room. This business of going from one place to another without realizing it was beginning to get unnerving and, quite frankly, a little annoying. At first, McCoy figured it was because he wasn't paying attention. Then he realized that he actually did not remember the journeys between their stops. That unnerved him.

“Okay, you’ve been leading me around like the Ghost of Christmas Past out of ‘The Christmas Carol!’ Outside of my rather questionable compassion, what in the hell is your point?!”

“Exactly that.”

“What?!”

“Christmas past. You are missing it, or rather them.”

“Who the hell isn’t?! Slater is not able to join the party with his other young friends because of his illness. Jones can’t party because he’s in the brig. But, even if he was free, he probably couldn’t allow himself to celebrate, because his sister is lost. And their family will never be complete again. And the bridge crew can’t celebrate at a party with their friends because they have to work. That's the hell of the holidays.”

“I have noticed that it can be a traumatic time for everyone.”

“And no wonder. Schedules get all confused. We eat food that’s too rich for our systems, and we guzzle in the alcohol as if Prohibition was gonna be enforced in January. We don’t even sleep when we should. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the holidays, we worry that we got the right present for someone, or if all of celebrating will go according to plan.” 

“And yet you would miss it.”

“It’s just that nothing is the way it’s supposed to be at the holidays.”

“Was it ever perfect, or is it simply the nostalgic image of something that never was that wonderful?”

McCoy looked stunned.

“Was there ever a perfect Christmas for you?” Spock asked quickly to prevent an outburst from McCoy who most certainly would treat Spock to a royal rant after he recovered from his shock at Spock’s blunt question about the holidays.

McCoy mellowed. “The folks and I went to Vermont one year. We had an oldfashioned Christmas. A greeting card one. There was snow and sledding and snowball fights and sleigh riding. We were staying in an old Victorian mansion that was decorated to the hilt with all sorts of greenery. Candles glowed everywhere. Charles Dickens and Sherlock Holmes would have felt at home there. We even had roast goose and figgy pudding for Christmas dinner.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Spock encouraged.

“We attended Christmas Eve services in a small rustic church surrounded by Vermont pines. That’s the night we got there by sleigh because the roads were impassable for anything else.”

“A wonderful memory, but not typical of your Georgia upbringing, I expect.”

McCoy frowned. “It wasn’t so perfect, either, now that I think about it. The folks and I tried to dress warmer because we knew that we would be further north. The trouble was, we were not acclimated to the cold temperatures, so we shook most of the time that we were in Vermont. We walked around looking like overstuffed penguins with all the clothing that we were wearing. We also discovered that Mother was allergic to something that was decorating the inside of that Victorian mansion. It couldn’t have been pines, because she was around pines in Georgia.”

“Perhaps it was the combination of pine with something else that was being used as decoration.”

“We never learned what was causing Mother's problem. She just walked around with the permanent sniffles like she was in mourning while we were there, and she had so wanted to seem and to look her best while she was around the Vermont relatives. I believe that she had been in some sort of competition with girl cousins over certain beaus in their younger days. It was going to be a matter of pride to be able to show herself and her family off to the best advantage, and then she spent the whole time weepy-eyed and red-nosed." McCoy shook his head in remembrance. "One little brat even asked her if she was Rudolph.”

“Rudolph?” 

McCoy grinned. “The red-nosed reindeer who led Santa through a foggy night on Christmas Eve to deliver Christmas presents. Father and I secretly thought that it was humorous what Martin had asked her. But we knew that Mother was miserable. I believe that she would have gladly dined on second-cousin Martin for Christmas dinner instead of roasted goose that year.” 

“She would have been entitled to have enjoyed her just deserts.”

McCoy gave Spock an appreciative look. “Why, Mr. Spock. Was that a pun? From you?”

“I believe that it was, Doctor,” Spock gloated.

"We needed to get something humorous out of that mess." McCoy actually grinned. “I hadn’t thought about our ‘perfect’ Christmas vacation for awhile. But all of that wasn’t all that went wrong. Cousin Oliver showed up at Christmas dinner with stomach flu. Not that we knew that, though. And it turned out to be our last Christmas surprise present that year. It hit two days later and took seventeen people off their feet.”

“How terrible.”

“My parents and I were too wrung out to enjoy winter and holiday activities from then through New Year’s. It’s one time I didn’t stay up to watch the ball fall on the clock in Times Square in New York City. We’d planned to see it in person that year, but missed it. We’d also planned to see the New York Knicks play and the current smash hit on Broadway.” McCoy grinned. “Cousin Oliver was well enough that he got to use our tickets. He even sent fruit baskets to the people he'd infected. I guess he felt guilty. The cad. It was the most expensive fruit we'd ever eaten because we couldn't use any of those tickets.” He shook his head. “Good times,” he muttered.

“What about Christmases in Georgia? What about them was that perfect?”

“Oh, the family gathering. The overeating. The partying with no concerns about work, or school, or boring lives. The feeling that something great could happen at any moment. Anything was possible.”

“So it was a general excitement.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Was it ever as good as the anticipation?”

“Well. No. Sometimes illness, or weather, or other people's plans got in the way. But that’s like family vacations. They are trips and not vacations. There's nothing pleasurable or relaxing about them. They are fun to plan and fun to relive in memory. But a lot of times, they are hell when you’re on them. And, so, I guess, were those Christmases in Georgia. There never was a perfect one.”

"And yet you had the opportunity for those kinds of memories and parents who were kind and loving enough to try to provide them for you."

"I suppose that I am sounding like a spoiled brat who's not getting his way, aren't I?"

"I will not endeavor to argue with your deductions, Doctor."

That made McCoy angry and defensive. "So I'm being selfish and petty by feeling sorry for myself, am I? What's your cure for correcting my selfishness?"

"You are already doing it."

"Eh?"

"Well, that is a welcome change from the humming."

"Don't get smart lipped! And don't you dare say, 'Just saying!'"

"But I am."

"You still haven't explained yourself."

"Well, you let Slater have visitors."

"Okay."

"You agreed to speak for Jones."

"Hmm?"

"Back to th humming, I see."

"I hadn't realized that I'd agreed to help Jones."

"You will, Doctor. You are a humanitarian, at heart."

"Hmm." McCoy also knew when he was getting his ego stroked, but he let Spock get away with it this time. For now.

"You visited the bridge crew, so they no longer felt left out of holiday festivities. And--"

"And?"

"And you have been keeping me company. All together, you have been having a most successful evening of helping other people. And, if I am not mistaken, you are feeling better."

"I am, at that!" McCoy declared with wonder.

"We always do when we try to brighten the lives of other people."

"Don't go trying to teach me how to be human! Besides, you don't like to even admit to having a human side!"

"I find that I can admit to that shortcoming once a year," Spock said smugly. "Then I have a whole new year to correct it."

"As I also could. Just let the milk of human kindness flow all over the place from my well of largess. In other words, get off my lazy ass and do something nice for someone else. Then I'll feel better."

"Precisely," Spock said with satisfaction.

McCoy looked wise as something occured to him. "I'll feel better. Just as you did. When you helped me. You had the same problem this evening, too, didn't you?"

Spock's one eyelid went up a fraction of an inch and he assumed what McCoy would call a pussycat grin. He merely stated, "Hmm."

McCoy grinned. "Catching, isn't it?" He slapped Spock's shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Spock! I'll buy you a cup of coffee!"

"I believe that I would prefer hot chocolate, if you do not mind, Doctor."

"You know, I think that I would, too!" he said as they entered the day room. "'Louie, I think that this is the start of a beautiful friendship.'"

"Are you going to do cliche lines from old movies now?"

But McCoy was feeling too good to retaliate. "You'll never know what I'll be doing next, Vulcan! So prepare yourself to be amazed! Hard telling what'll come next!"

"I know, Doctor." A grin tugged at the corners of Spock's mouth. He was feeling very contented.

The potential mystery of McCoy's erratic behavior made him anticipate future dealings with McCoy. It would probably be better than Christmas in Vermont.

Or even in Georgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The milk of human compassion drippeth slowly.  
> But it does drip.  
>   
> And so does a Vulcan's.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
